


The Detective, The Hunters and the Police Box

by wibblywobblytimeturners



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, Multi, Superwholock, supernatural season 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibblywobblytimeturners/pseuds/wibblywobblytimeturners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SuperWhoLock (Supernatural,Doctor Who and BBC Sherlock)<br/>Sherlock Holmes has a secret of utmost importance, but even he doesn't remember it. However, when mysterious hounds howling for his blood begin to track to him down, and a strange man in a telephone box turns up, he begins to remember a life once lost. Knowing the truth cannot save him from a seemingly inexorable fate, though. But perhaps two boys and an angel can?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Detective, The Hunters and the Police Box

**Author's Note:**

  * For [To Maddie for making me watch Supernatural and ruining my life](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=To+Maddie+for+making+me+watch+Supernatural+and+ruining+my+life), [and to Danielle who always encourages me as a writer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=and+to+Danielle+who+always+encourages+me+as+a+writer), [i love you both](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=i+love+you+both).



> I do not own Supernatural, Doctor Who, or Sherlock. I merely toy with their characters in a big grand scheme of crossovers.  
> This will, prospectively, be quite lengthy, but only the beginning is written thus far. Hope you enjoy it!

          Chapter One: The Deal

“Hello, Detective,” a woman’s voice rang out behind him. There was a swishing of a trench coat in the cold night air as he turned to face her. She was a thin but tall woman, looking as though she had been stretched out like taffy. Her freckled face was framed with blond curls and she had cuts in her skin near the temples. Clinging tightly to her skin she wore a black dress that accentuated her curves.

                “Ah…good,” the man called the Detective said nervously, and slightly surprised, as though he had had doubts about the woman’s existence. He had a deep sort of voice with so much character to it that a person could quite possibly listen to him talk about cigarette ashes all day without annoyance or boredom. He observed his own shaking limbs with observant, yet heavy eyes that seemed weighed down with some unknowable burden. The man briefly closed his eyes and regained his composure before saying briskly “I see you know who I am. Excellent. That means I can save time introducing myself. So, I know of your services, so let’s skip the pleasantries. As long as no questions are asked I will give you whatever you require from-“

                “Oh I know what you want, Detective,” she replied with a sly smile. Slowly she began to walk around him, circling him like prey and eyeing him just the same. “But what I can’t figure out is…”-she seemed to savor the word-“ _why.”_

His eyes, which had previously been darting around, watching her every move, suddenly stopped as his brows knit together in confusion. “I don’t understand…how did you…?”

                “How did I know who you are and what you want? My, my, Detective, not exactly living up to the name, are you?” She asked, and in one fluid movement she had closed the space between them until her face was inches away from his. Her hand traced the outline of his face, from his high set cheekbones and down his jawline. He stood firmly where he was, rooted to the spot, but eyed her hand with mild disgust. “Well, you’re sure as handsome as everyone says you are. Pity I can’t say the same about your mind. I must admit I expected-“

                “Do you always play with your food before eating it?” he retaliated. “Didn’t your daddy Lucifer ever tell you it was rude? Or has he been too absent locked away in his cage to teach you table manners?”

                “Oh, I _love_ the feisty ones,” she said cynically. “They’re always so much more fun to watch the meat get ripped off their bones.”

                “Is that supposed to intimidate me?” The Detective said. “Try to manipulate me all you’d like. You will not make me fear you. Fear is a chemical defect in the mind that can be ignored.”

                “Lying comes with my job, and you seem to already have it down. I may be working alongside you not so long from now,” suddenly her eyes turned a vibrant red, with no distinguishing between iris and pupil. She smiled. “I know you let fear guide you, Detective. Isn’t that why you ran?”

                “My reasons are mine alone and certainly not yours,” he said shortly, his eyes shifted slightly. “And I know you’re inhabiting the body of a strong-willed salesperson. Simple. There are vertical scratches across your temples about the width of her fingernails. The angle of the wounds suggests they’re self-inflicted, and they’re not just the product of scratching an itch. That doesn’t draw blood, unless there was a source of the itching-possibly a mosquito bite or itching powder in the hair. If it was a mosquito bite there would be a visible bump, which there is not. If it was itching powder, you would probably still be scratching right now. Now, your fingernails-or should I even be calling them yours?-are chipped, broken and bloody. So she was fighting for control after possessed and did the only likely thing and ordinary woman would do: clawed at her head because there was something foreign in there. Your fingers are twitching now which suggests she hasn’t given up yet. Nice attempt. I commemorate the effort. Now, the dress: Someone of your profession would probably get dirty or their clothes torn. The dress looks new. There’s also the dead giveaway that there is a price tag still attached. “-she looked away from him and saw the tag she had forgotten to remove- “So you haven’t been wearing it long if you haven’t noted to take the tag off. Then you haven’t been wearing the girl long, either, have you? Now if you know all that, the rest is obvious. You just hopped in a person to wear and stole a new dress while you were at it to stay classy. The only logical deduction is that she was in a store when you decided to take her for a test drive, so she could have been an employee or a customer. But she looks young, possibly twenty? So at that age she couldn’t afford to be shopping in a store with clothing as high quality and expensive as that dress. Good Lord, is it really nearly seven hundred pounds?” he added, glancing at the price tag again. “So please, do tell me my powers of observation are subpar again, I dare you. My intelligence is my weapon and I always keep it loaded and with ammunition to spare. Now, I did not come here to talk to you about young store clerks being the marionette of Satan’s slave. So are we going to make a deal, or shall I get you some tea while you dither about?”

                “Yes. I take it black, no sugar,” the woman said, and then added under his patronizing glare “Alright, alright. And I thought we were going to have a nice heart-to-heart,” she sighed sarcastically, before smiling and gesturing at body. “Guilty as charged. Sarah Lockett, college drop-out, nineteen years old. She’s attempting a jailbreak in here,” she gestured towards her head, “but she’ll never win.” She giggled ecstatically before returning to a business-like tone. “So, my turn with the sleuthing, Detective: you want to be human. But what I don’t understand is why you don’t just use one of your strange pocket watches. Ah well, your soul, not mine. “

                “I want a full human life. Just let me retain who I am and my intelligence. But let me forget…this,” he gestured at himself, “what I am, what I did, my people…everything.”

                “Some things can never be forgotten completely, but buried. It will always be locked away in your mind, Detective. Just don’t unlock it. You’ll be born to a human family and live a perfectly human life…Until your time is up. I can give you…thirty years. Do we have a deal?”

                “Th-thirty?” he asked, amazed.

                “You’ve already lived a few hundred years. Not everyone is that lucky. Take the thirty or I’ll make it twenty,” she growled.

                “What-What happens when the thirty years are up?” he asked.

                “You already know the answer to that,” she flashed her demonic eyes again. “Now, do we have a deal? I’ve places to be, lives to ruin and souls to claim.”

                “Yes, we have a deal,” he said slowly.

                “You know how to seal it,” she whispered with a sly grin.

                “Would you give me one moment, please?” He said quietly with a trace of vulnerability in his voice, “one moment of privacy? Please?”

                She rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she sighed. “I should have left you by now, but Crowley thinks we need you…Time Lord.”

                He turned his back to her, closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. This planet, Earth, was going to be his new home now that his old one had burned in the fires of war. He tried to experience it all for the last time: the time vortex spinning through his mind, the beauty- and horrors- of the universe, and the screams of his people and the Daleks.  He locked the view of the universe away in his mind and said goodbye to his people, whispering one last apology.

                “I’m waiting,” the crossroads demon’s harsh voice lashed out in the night. The Detective felt the beat of two hearts in his chest for the last time as he turned back around and smashed his mouth against hers, sealing the deal.

                After a few moments, she pulled away and whispered, “Goodbye for now…Sherlock Holmes.”     


End file.
